


Yes, My Lord

by Rosslyn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Butler!Reese, Fanart, Gen, Lord!Finch, M/M, Work by daist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosslyn/pseuds/Rosslyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fanart by daist, for the Regency AU <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/763549/chapters/1462122">The Last Sail of Winchilsea, Part III</a> of my Cloud Atlas AU fic, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/763549">as time goes by</a>.</p><p>Featuring Butler!Reese and Lord!Finch, depicting the gambling scene. Four different versions for your enjoyment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, My Lord

**Author's Note:**

> Darling daist doesn't have an AO3 account so I'm posting this on her behalf. SO MUCH LOVE <3
> 
> I've included the excerpt from the story for those of you who haven't read it. *squee*

Lined version:

Coloured version:

_\-------_

_(Excerpt from[The Last Sail of Winchilsea, Part III](763549/chapters/1462122))_

Reese returned from his appointed duty to find Finch sitting at the cards table opposite Burton, surrounded by a sizeable crowd. Finch had a minute frown on his face while the Duke appeared amiable as always, smiling and sipping his drink cordially. Reese manoeuvred his way into the crowd to find a piece of paper sitting on the table, signed by both parties, and a cursory glance over the document turned his insides into shards of ice. 

"You've lost a quarter of your estate already, Winchilsea," Burton said, flickering his gaze over Reese's face lazily. "Perhaps it's best if you call it a night."

Finch pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Surely you would not rob me of the chance at a good game, Your Grace," he said. "The opportunity to play against one of the greatest minds in the country does not present itself often."

Burton laughed, a good natured, affable sound, though the humour failed to reach his eyes. "I get bored from ordinary wins, Winchilsea," he said. "I have no need for your fortune or estate. Let us up the stakes."

"Oh?" Finch flicked a brow lazily, not bothering to look up. 

Burton set down his glass and leaned forward. 

"You see," he began, "my old fellow Anthony is seeking retirement."

Finch shot him a piercing glance. 

"So I need a replacement for my valet," Burton continued, smiling innocuously.  

Finch's brow rose slowly. "I see," he said. "Should I send out an advertisement for you?"

Burton's only widened his smile and reclined back into his seat.

"I hear your new valet is a man of many skills, Winchilsea," Burton said loudly. "I have to admit, I'm a little jealous." 

Finch's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Are you," he drawled.

Burton tipped his head sideways and dragged his gaze across the huddle, stopping finally to bore into Finch's face.

"What do you say we play one last hand," he said, "and let fortune decide who should get John?"

The crowd tittered. It was unusual, though not entirely unheard of, to bet on a servant's service, but for a Duke to ask for an Earl's personal valet was something of a precedent. Something dark flitted across Finch's face, he said nothing.

"Fetch dear Harold a drink now, will you, John?" Burton said pleasantly. 

Reese kept his eyes lowered and face blank, moving only to serve Finch with a cooled glass of whiskey.

"Thank you, Mr. Reese," Finch replied steadily. He kept his gaze across the table. "And what if fortune should frown upon you, Your Grace?"

Burton shrugged. "Then I return all of my winnings and you can name one thing, anything, that is in my power to give," he said.

Finch studied his opponent with a perfectly composed expression. His eyes trailed over Reese slowly, indecipherable, then settled back onto Burton's face, contemplative. Finch deliberately pushed his current hand onto the table, slow, until all the cards were splayed out, abandoned.

"I accept your terms," Finch announced. "May the best man win."

"Blackjack," Burton followed immediately. "You may deal."

"Very well," Finch nodded, and began shuffling the cards swiftly.

Reese spared a glance towards the orchestra and saw that both Kara and Mark had gone. More spectators had gathered around the table, murmuring in excitement, while Finch dealt the cards, a three and a five.

"Hit," Burton said, lazily.

Finch did. Then, "again," Burton said. 

Finch gave him a look, and dealt another card. Burton smiled and fell silent, his fingers drumming on the table, appearing completely at ease with an air of affable confidence. He smiled cordially towards Reese.

"Again?" Finch asked, low.

Burton inclined his head minutely and tapped the table. Finch flipped the card open and Reese's heart skipped a beat: it made Burton's hand a total of twenty.

The crowd stilled. Finch had a Queen of Spades on the table, amounting to ten, the odds were not in his favour. Finch's hand slowly reached for the unrevealed hole card, tipping it up at the edge discreetly - there was a brief flash of image and Reese's heart sank. It was the King of Diamonds. 

Finch's hand was going to bust. 

Reese's mind was already formulating ten different plans on how to escape the sour aftermath when the crowd leaned in, eager, and the air grew thick; Finch's eyes slid up, his face undecipherable.

"Could you give us some room, please?" he murmured.

The spectators retreated, holding their breaths. Burton smiled and placed his hands under his chin, patient; his eyes grew predatory. Finch took a sip of the whiskey and flipped the card open - Ace of Hearts.

Blackjack.

An eerie silence descended over the room. Reese's heart pounded against his throat, loud and ringing as blood rushed through his ears; he fought to keep his face blank. The onlookers' donned a wide array of expressions: disbelief, curiosity, mirth. No one spoke.

A soft clink broke the silence. Finch idly shook his whiskey glass, now empty. 

"Another?" he asked.

The crowd shook out in a rumble. Everyone was saying everything at the same time, a thousand words tumbling over Reese's numb mind as relief and wonderment roared through his body with an exhilarating intensity. 

"- sheer dumb luck, Winchilsea -"

"- most nerve-racking ten seconds of this year -"

" - a better candidate I can think of, Your Grace -"

Reese exhaled deeply, unaware that he had been holding his breath. Finch leaned back in his chair, smiling; his gaze trailed over the crowd and settled on Reese's face; the lines around his eyes creased a little more.

Burton regarded them with a careful, composed expression.

"Well played," he said agreeably, tearing the document into two. "Your estate remains intact for today."

Finch offered a humourless curl of his lips. "Good game, Your Grace."

Burton stood up and handed him the cards. For a brief moment something menacing flashed behind his eyes and Reese tensed automatically; then it was gone. 

"Yes," Burton said, every word drawn out in a slow and deliberate tone, "Good game."

Finch watched Burton sweep out of the room with his fingers steepled, looking contemplative. He smiled and nodded to everyone who came to congratulate him, politely indifferent, until the crowds began to disperse and all that was left was Reese. Their eyes met and Finch's smile fell away, genuine exhaustion seeping through the crack of his mask. 

"My apologies," Finch said, rising out of the chair.

Reese's heart jolted as Finch swayed a little on the spot. He instinctively reached out and their hands brushed: Finch's fingers were ice cold. 

"My lord," Reese murmured, searching Finch's face with a frown. 

Finch gave him a small smile and gripped onto his hand fleetingly. 

"I think I'll have that drink now," Finch said. 

 

\--------

 

And a bonus study version of the scene <3

 

Coloured version:

 

*squee* Many thanks to daist again and again <3


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